


The Case of the Two Detectives

by FixaIdea



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Canon Era, Comedy, Crime Fighting, M/M, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 22:28:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20478485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FixaIdea/pseuds/FixaIdea
Summary: Detective Backhaus and his assistant are spending their well-earned holiday in a luxury resort in Geneva.  Or at least they would, if it was not so rudely interrupted by a robbery. The sooner they get to the bottom of the case the sooner they can return to relaxing, but  a mysterious English gentleman and his companion keep getting under their feet.





	The Case of the Two Detectives

Life was good. At least for now Joseph Schatz felt like it was. Being the assistant and helper of a private agent was, generally speaking, a dangerous and gruelling existence, but it certainly had its perks. Right now for example him and his long-time colleague, Herr Heinrich Anzelm Backhaus were spending their hard-earned revenue at an elegant resort in Geneva. It was an exquisite hotel, a huge five-storey building of three wings, propped above the city in the mountainside surrounded by thick woods, offering a splendid view on the lake.

Schatz and Herr Backhaus were spending their dinner in the elegant dining room. Schatz was slightly dazed – had his colleague not so generously invited him he could never have afforded to stay a single day at such a place. Just the starter on his plate was worth a day’s salary.

‘A quick exercise for you, my friend’ Backhaus said, leaning back in his seat. Schatz was instantly wary – such exercises often only occurred to highlight his colleague’s brilliance, when he inevitably failed and his companion got the chance to spectacularly correct him. He sighed and nodded. The detective smiled and went on.

‘Look over this room. Full of the crème de la crème, the elite of Europe – and yet. And yet, what a collection of flaws and crooked characters! At the first glance, all you see is shining brilliance, if only because of the sheer amount of diamonds in the room, but look closer! Go on – take a closer look at each table! What do you see?’

Schatz sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He dearly wished he would be left alone to eat in peace, but he gave in none the less.

‘All right then, let me see. The table beside us, with the old gentleman and the much younger lady. Going by his clothes he’s clearly wanting for nothing, and as a result neither is the lady.’

‘And why would you say that?’

‘Well… they seem to be quite close, if you know what I mean’ said Schatz, allowing some coyness to colour his voice.

‘That’s actually Monsieur Gillard, a banker, with his daughter.’

Ears burning, Schatz fought down an embarrassed groan. He hated this game.

‘All right’ he said ‘Moving on… In that far corner, the table with the two Englishmen.’

‘Count Archibald Willbury-Higgs the second and his personal doctor’ Herr Backhaus added, nodding ‘Not to sway your judgement of him in any way, but the count would not let his poor doctor have his own room… His health is declining, from what I gather he’s been at death’s door for the past ten years or so. His precious person must be watched constantly.’

‘A fine and typical specimen of the English aristocracy, I see’ murmured Schatz.

The man in question was inspecting a slice of galantine on his plate. Going by the couple of words Schatz could catch he was judging it heavily.

‘Charming’ said Schatz. Backhaus chuckled quietly, then nodded towards the far end of the dining room.

‘And what would you say about the young gentleman over there?’

Schatz followed his colleague’s gaze. There, chatting with a middle-aged lady who was almost lost in a heap of mink, sat a lean, black-haired youth with a pencil-thin moustache. Schatz had to take several deep breaths and count up to ten to keep himself from just getting up and walking out of the room and not stop until he got home, preferably banging his head on every vertical surface on the way. That man was no stranger. He was – or at least last time they met he was calling himself Wilhelm Blumberg. Respectable socialite to the world, slippery jewellery thief and long standing Nemesis to Backhaus.

‘…This is why we’re really here, isn’t it? You knew he was going to be here. It was never meant to be a vacation, was it?’

‘Oh, it was’ Backhaus said, his voice pensive ‘I had no idea he was coming here. The good news is, this being a coincidence, he couldn’t expect me either.’

***

The dinner was slowly coming to an end and the distinguished company started to disband. Backhaus let his younger colleague retreat, but stayed behind for a smoke himself. He was quite happy with this unexpected turn of events – Blumberg was an interesting challenge and his presence at the luxury resort must have served some purpose other than simple recreation. Maybe this time the master thief would slip up and leave something for him to grasp at.

From the corner of his eyes Backhaus watched the fellow kiss the hand of lady Bartolo-Ricci, the dame he had been charming all day, presumably less for her beauty or wit and more for the large diamond necklace she wore. The young man rose, bid the lady good night and left. Backhaus quickly put out his cigar and followed. He had to be careful – he was no longer as light on his feet as he used to be in his youth. But then again, sneaking about was a work for common constables, his main weapon was his unparalleled brain. He smiled at the thought as he rounded a corner – and quickly drew back.

Blumberg was talking to someone.

Backhaus carefully peered out from behind the wall – it was Willbury-Higgs, his lanky silhouette and aquiline profile unmistakable, his doctor hovering silently a step behind him. Blumberg was listening to his chatter with an indulgent smile, though annoyance flashed in his intelligent grey eyes every time the count looked away.

‘And you know I was expecting a room with a view on the lake, and yet they gave me one where all I can see are trees. How dull!’

‘How unfortunate’ Blumberg said, his voice just the right note of commiseration.

‘And you, young man? Are you content?’

‘Quite. I got an excellent view on the lake.’

It was obvious the count meant to rope him into further dissing the establishment, but the youth flashed him a brilliant smile, nodded and retreated. Backhaus smirked and stepped out from the shadows.

‘Good evening, your highness!’

The count started so hard he dropped his monocle. He turned and blinked a pair of wet, unfocused eyes at the detective.

‘Oh. I didn’t see you there.’

‘Heinrich Backhaus, pleased to meet you’ said the detective, holding out his hand.

The count fixed a puzzled stare at the hand, as if unsure what he was meant to do with it. With an exasperated sigh, the doctor stepped out from behind him and shook Backhaus’ hand before he could withdraw it.

‘Doctor James Clarkson, pleased to meet you.’

Backhaus forced a pleasant smile and pressed his hand.

‘If I may be so bold… May I ask what brings such an excellent English gentleman here?’

Willbury merely shot him a disparaging look along his nose, so the doctor stepped in to answer again.

‘His lordship wanted to try if the fresh mountain air would improve his health and this hotel promised to meet his expectations.’

At this the count heaved a displeased little sigh. Clarkson looked at him and flashed Backhaus an apologetic smile.

‘I’m afraid we should retire now. Good night, Herr Backhaus.’

Taking the hint, the detective nodded and took his farewell.

***

Clarkson and the count watched as Backhaus retreated. After he left, a weird change came over Willbury. He straightened and took off his monocle, his slightly dazed gaze sharpening into steely focus – he seemed a different man entirely.

‘What do you think?’ Clarkson asked quietly ‘Will they get under foot?’

‘Undoubtedly’ said Willbury as they entered their room ‘Our best bet right now is to keep an eye on him and his colleague.’

Once inside their room Willbury tossed his fur-lined cloak onto the bunk bed he insisted for his doctor – still untouched, just as tidy and neat as they found it. Yawning and stretching the two men got about their evening routine in a comfortable silence.

‘Say’ Clarkson spoke up finally ‘Are you sure your fellow will have the documents on him?’

‘Quite. Acquiring them is only a matter of time now.’

Clarkson kept looking at Willbury, as if waiting for further explanation, but none was coming. Instead, the count wriggled under the covers of his luxurious bed. Sighing, shaking his head with a slightly exasperated but amused fondness, the doctor joined him.

‘I must say, if nothing else, this little escapade is worth it for the lodgings alone’ he murmured as he absently tucked the covers under his companion’s chin ‘There, it wouldn’t do for you to catch a cold.’

‘Always you fuss!’ Willbury chuckled.

‘Always you give me a reason to!’ Clarkson said. He bent down and pressed a small kiss to the other’s forehead ‘Good night, old chap!’

‘Good night, John.’

***

The Sun sank below the horizon and slowly, one by, one, the windows of Geneva lit up, replicating the starry sky above. Schatz was more than ready to retreat for the night, but Backhaus had been hogging the room’s water basin for the last hour. Why the man needed to painstakingly arrange every single strand of his moustache before bedtime was beyond Schatz, but here they were anyway.

With a deep, dejected sigh, he gave up on cleaning and began to peel himself out of his clothes. Just as he was wrestling with the thousand buttons of his shirt a deafening scream tore through the still night air. For a long moment Schatz and Backhaus stood frozen then, at the sound of a second scream they bolted out the door in union.

Or at least they tried, but it turned out the door was rather too narrow for more than one man to dramatically burst through at the same time. By the time they sorted themselves out the whole hotel sparked alive in a frenzy of activity – several valets and the sleepy, bleary-eyed manager all running in the direction of the sounds. The reason of the commotion became readily apparent as the maid of lady Bartolo-Ricci rushed to meet them, wringing her hands. Her mistress lay sprawled on the sofa in her room, hand dramatically covering her eyes, with Doctor Clarkson – who seemed to have materialised out of thin air – already bowing above her.

‘What happened?’ Backhaus asked, trying – Schatz noted - not to wheeze too loudly.

‘Robbery’ said Clarkson, nodding towards the room’s small, hotel-issued safe. It was left ajar, and pitifully empty. Before Backhaus could get any details out of the dame one of the valets cried out:

‘Look!’

Backhaus, Schatz and the manager dashed out to join him on the apartment’s balcony. The man was pointing upwards, to the roof. It was an awkward, steep angle, but something was unmistakeably moving against the edge. A shadow – the tail of a coat.

‘The thief!’ Backhaus cried. He rounded on the manager ‘What is the shortest way to the roof?’

The man did not reply, but gestured for them to follow him. He briefly paused in front of a door so neatly hidden in the elegant woodwork a casual observer would surely have missed it, but which was already pried open, and ran down the narrow, dark corridor behind it. It lead to a spiral staircase, illuminated by moonlight – the thief evidently went this way himself, and left the roof door open. Schatz, almost absently, noted that his colleague was moving with some difficulty, the steep stairs evidently a challenge for him. When they finally reached the top and the door at the end Backhaus balked. The roof had several rows of snow-protective rails they could step on, but it was also steep and did not look safe at all. He was obviously content to let the much younger and more athletic Schatz push past him and run on alone.

Schatz, though no particular friend of heights and rooftops either, was propelled by the thrill of the chase. Clinging to one row of snow protection and using another as a rickety ‘pavement’ he carefully crept the way they saw the thief disappear, towards the far end of the building. Right now he was above the right wing – from the tiny fragment of movement he guessed his man must be moving towards the main building, the middle part. It occurred to him that the culprit might have already descended, because even though he could see the entire inner part of the building’s roof, both wings and the main block included, he did not see any movement. Carefully he climbed all the way up to the ridge and peered over at the outer side.

_There_.

Sure enough there was movement – two figures creeping along the tiled roof with such speed and agility Schatz would have thought impossible had he not witnessed it. Judged by the agitated way the one in the front kept looking back at the other the latter must also have been a pursuer. Taking a deep breath Schatz hauled his legs over the ridge and lowered himself until his legs found the first row of snow protection on this side. Using that and the ridge itself he crept after the others as fast as he could. They were moving quickly – two black-clad shadows in front of and underneath him. As the one in front looked back again the moonlight caught on his full-face black mask.

So much for identifying him.

The pursuant was gaining on the thief – Schatz tried even harder to catch up with them. With his eyes fixed on the figures and his movements less and less careful it was no surprise he missed a step. With a loud yelp he tripped, fell forward and rolled down the roof, each row of snow protection tearing up his shirt but doing little to stop him. At last he managed to grab on to the wire of the last row and hook his leg into the gutter. There he was, inelegantly dangling above a five-storey drop. He could hear screams and shouts from below – he grabbed the wire with his other hand and slowly started to pull – only to realise with horror that the gutter under his foot was peeling away from the side of the building. A small, hysterical voice at the back of his head was complaining that his life was not flashing before his eyes as promised – he was still occupied by these thoughts when a strong, wiry hand seized him first by the cuff of his neck then his forearm and yanked him up to safety.

Panting harshly, the first thing he focused on was a pair of shoes, a slightly darker shade of black against the tiles. They moved, his saviour already walking away. Schatz quickly looked up – the man in front of him was only a dark silhouette, but as he turned away Schatz caught a glimpse of his profile.

A distinctive, hook-nosed profile which, if he did not know any better, Schatz would have sworn belonged to count Willbury.

By the time he got his bearing the man was gone.

The hotel’s pride, the telephone was put to use, and a little after midnight, three hours after the first cries, the local police turned up on the crime scene. Illumination from the room’s gas lighting was deemed insufficient to properly examine the scene, so it was shut down with a constable placed to stand guard at the door. All relatively easy – the hardest part of the task was discreetly shooing away the crowd of curious onlookers who came pouring out of their rooms (among them, Schatz noted, a dishevelled, night-gown-wearing Willbury).

***

The next morning found a highly displeased but equally smug Backhaus and a banged-up Schatz in the disgraced room. Blumberg went missing, thus all but confirming Backhaus’ suspicions about him. The chief of the local force, upon learning of the great detective’s presence was more than happy to palm the investigation off on them and busied himself by gathering potential witnesses in the hotel’s café. Still, he at least left one constable at the door for good measure.

Backhaus arrived at the scene equipped with a magnifying glass and an unwavering sense of authority. If he was unhappy with the police chief’s absence, which only left the constable and Schatz as an audience he could show off to, he tried not to show it. He loudly tutted at the sorry state of the carpet, already trodden-over by half the police force of Geneva, then moved on to the tiny safe. He was just about to start muttering his observations for Schatz to note down when a high-pitched whine jolted him out of his thoughts.

‘Do you see anything yet, detective?’

Archibald Willbury-Higgs was loitering in the doorway, poking his head over the shoulder of the poor constable, craning his thin neck as far as it would go. The constable was trying his best to block his way without putting his hands on his lordship’s person, already sweating bullets. How he managed to wriggle out from being questioned with the other guests was unclear, but Backhaus did not seem to be as bothered as perhaps he should have been. He motioned at the constable:

‘Let his highness in, will you?’

The constable blinked, shared a disbelieving look with Schatz but obeyed.

The count flounced into the room, and in a moment was already going around Backhaus to inspect the safe himself.

‘Well. It appears this has been broken.’

Backhaus – standing behind the count – permitted himself to raise his eyes skywards.

‘An astute observation, my lord. As you can see the culprit made a quick and clean job of it – no forcing needed.’

By the time he finished the sentence Willbury already lost interest in the safe. He clasped his hands behind his back and began walking up and down the room, seemingly inspecting the furniture, the rug and the decoration of the ceiling, humming his contempt every now and then. Backhaus briefly looked up again, instructed the constable to fetch doctor Clarkson, and then turned back to his work.

Schatz for his part elected to ignore Willbury and concentrate on his acclaimed colleague as he inspected the window, jotting down his remarks in a notepad. He had no idea what came over Backhaus – it was entirely unlike him to entertain strangers, probable suspects even, at a crime scene no matter how starved he was for an audience.

‘Your man is interested in much more than jewellery’ a voice from behind them cut through Schatz’ thoughts.

Count Willbury-Higgs was now smirking at them, leaning against the doorframe in a manner that was entirely too casual for someone of his class, and a stark contrast to his previous posture. The high-pitched, whiny affectation was gone from his voice, he sounded like anyone would on the streets of Munich.

Backhaus cocked his head, a small half-smile playing at his lips. He approached the count in a slow swagger.

‘I started to suspect as much the moment I spotted you’ he said ‘I doubted such matters would have brought you all the way here, unless of course you were after a completely different fellow. Apparently not. What is it then? Intel? Documents? Submarine plans again?’

Schatz jammed his fists into his pocket to keep himself from burying his face in his hands. He would have asked for clarification, for Backhaus to explain who the hell Willbury was, but he knew he would only get a condescending smile, and maybe some vague hints and a declaration that it was ‘elementary’.

‘That diamond necklace was but a side project for… what is he calling himself this time? Blumberg. His true prize were… a certain set of documents. Very, shall we say, sensitive ones. In the wrong hands they could cause a lot of trouble.’

‘I see’ said Backhaus ‘And where, pray tell, do you suggest we should find these documents?’

‘Oh?’ Willbury shrugged. Reaching under his cloak he pulled out a thick envelope and waved it in front of Backhaus’ face ‘Right here. As his plan to steal the necklace was interrupted he had no time to go back to his room to fetch them. I thought it best to retrieve them before he snuck back to get them.’

‘What makes you so sure he would?’ Schatz snapped. He was getting fed up by being left out of the conversation. Willbury merely raised an eyebrow at him. After a beat Backhaus took pity on him.

‘If these papers are indeed so important, he must have a vested interest in getting them back.’

‘That is the understatement of the century. If sold to the right bidder, these documents would worth thousands of that little necklace and cause serious international conflict’ said Clarkson. Schatz started – he had no idea when the man showed up.

‘Oh, the good doctor!’ Backhaus smirked ‘How is the lady?’

‘Devastated but calmer now. I gave her some hot cocoa, though if she asks, it was a potent sedative. I left her to her maid – capable girl, she will take good care of her.’

‘Colossal!’ exclaimed Backhaus, bouncing on his heels ‘All we need do is to lay in wait and catch the scoundrel!’

‘It may not be so simple’ said Willbury ‘He will be cautious. We can lay a trap for him, but we must work together, lest your assistant blunder into my plans again’ he threw a withering look at Schatz.

Backhaus had no clever comeback to that, though for a long moment he visibly struggled to come up with one.

‘Very well’ he said finally ‘Come to my room after lunch, we’ll see what we can do. Bring the doctor too.’

With that, the two Brits nodded their goodbyes and left. The moment they were out the door Schatz rounded on Backhaus.

‘What possessed you to trust a random stranger like this? All we know of this so-called Count Willbury is that he’s not who he said he was!’

Backhaus blinked at him slowly. Twice.

‘My dear Schatz. That may be all that _you_ know of this fellow. What I know, is that Archibald Willbury-Higgs does not exist. That man is an English private agent called Sherlock Holmes.’

***

Obviously Schatz had heard of Sherlock Holmes, he was an avid reader of the stories published about the man’s exploits… the one thing he did not know was that he was a real person. Now, sitting around the table of Backhaus’ room, wearing the ridiculous, over-the-top costume of Willbury-Higgs, he somehow both still looked like a fictional character, and a lot less impressive than Schatz imagined him. Attempting to be polite, Schatz cleared his throat and turned to the man’s companion, who he assumed must have been Dr Watson.

‘And how is you dear wife?’ he asked.

‘Quite well, quite well, thanks for asking.’

Backhaus, seated across from them, arched an eyebrow.

‘Did she not die tragically? Or was that something you included in your publications only to provoke some emotion in your audience?’

A tiny muscle twitched in Watson’s face but he quickly schooled his features back into a mask of calm nonchalance.

‘I remarried. My new wife is truly doing _quite _well. She is lovely.’

‘I see’ Backhaus said with a toothy grin that suggested he gathered more from the answer than Schatz could ever hope to.

***

They agreed that Holmes should be present at the questioning of the victim and her maid, though the exact method took some devising. It was imperative that no one except Backhaus and Schatz knew his identity and allowing him to wander in as Willbury, though entirely in character for the count, would have left the German duo look terribly unprofessional. It was finally agreed that he should hide behind the bar. Holmes agreed easily enough – it was hardly the least dignified he ever got to solve a case.

They set up shop in the emptied-out café and the lady Constanza Bartolo-Ricci was lead in. She shed her mink for the moment, but not her aristocratic attitude. Before Backhaus could even open his mouth she was already in full swing, unleashing her righteous fury in perfect French.

‘A luxury hotel they call it! This shed where any ruffian can just walk in and out of, just like that! Do they even know what security is? Are the guests just expected to accept they might be murdered in their sleep any time? This is atrocious! And their bread is slate!’

‘I assure you Madame that we shall do everything in our power to recover your diamonds’ said Backhaus in his most calming, diplomatic tone. At the moment he dearly wished to join Holmes and go hide behind the counter. ‘May I ask what exactly were you doing just before the robbery? If you saw anything out of the ordinary?’

The lady heaved a dramatic sigh.

‘Nothing unusual. I just returned from my usual evening walk when I discovered the theft.’

‘So you go on evening walks. Are they generally around the same time?’

‘More or less yes – but surely I should be allowed my habits without some scoundrel robbing me? If the security was working as it should, I ought to be allowed to be as predictable as a clockwork and still not get robbed!’

A fair point, Backhaus had to admit.

‘I never meant to suggest the contrary.’

‘It’s good for my health! Rosa says so!’

‘Rosa?’

‘My maid. Anyway, I did not see anything out of the ordinary, not until we got back to my room. Even the door was locked, just like we left it!’

Backhaus raised an eyebrow.

‘How many spare keys do you have?’

‘We have two in total. One for me and one for Rosa, and there ought to be a spare at the reception. And before you ask, we both had ours on us that evening.’

‘And I suppose you’re the only one who knows the safe’s opening combination?’

‘Naturally.’

‘Thank you Madame. One last question – how long have you been staying here?’

The lady thought for a moment.

‘This is the eleventh day.’

‘Thank you so much Madame. We will be sure to keep you informed.’

The moment the door closed on her Holmes emerged from behind the counter.

‘The next step is obvious, isn’t it?’

‘Ask the porter about the spare key and find the local locksmith, see who brought in a hotel key to be duplicated.’

‘Exactly.’

Holmes ducked as the next witness, the maid entered.

She was an elegant, dark-haired young woman with striking, intelligent grey eyes. She introduced herself as Rosamond Wagner. For the most part, her story matched that of the lady word by word. Backhaus nodded along.

‘How long have you worked for the dame?’ he asked finally.

‘Two months, sir.’

‘These evening walks… Are these a long standing habit of hers?’

‘I could not say, sir. Is that not a common habit? Certainly she seems to like them.’

‘Very well’ said Backhaus ‘Thank you Fräulein Wagner, that will be all for now.’

***

The next couple of days went by in a semblance of normalcy, though the tension in the hotel was palpable. The porter had nothing useful to say about the spare key, Lady Bartolo-Ricci continued her walks with Miss Wagner, Willbury continued to be a general nuisance and the police withdrew, leaving only a pair of guards at Blumberg’s room, should he return.

The second day after the theft, count Willbury-Higgs came down with another bout of mysterious illness (though Backhaus, Schatz and Watson of course knew that it was simply the case of the man impersonating him being out in town, interviewing the local locksmith).

This was a fine afternoon, and in the absence of Holmes the remaining three decided to take a walk in the park together. Schatz spotted the lady Bartolo-Ricci on a bench, momentarily abandoned by her maid. The trio slowly made their way towards her. They were all well within earshot of her when Watson suddenly spoke up.

‘All in all things are progressing well, and I do think your plan will work out just fine.’

Schatz swore his heart must have missed a beat. He shot a worried look towards the lady, who visibly perked up and was listening intently. He was about to shush the doctor when, to his horror, his own colleague spoke.

‘I am certain it will. Let everyone think Blumberg’s previous stolen goods are to remain in his own room but in reality hide them with me. That will confuse him!’

Schatz was swimming in cold sweat. How many times had Backhaus accused him of being unprofessional, and then he goes and does something like this! Announce his plan to a civilian, just like that, and without realising what he did! A small smug part of him could hardly wait to point it out – but the moment they were out of the lady’s hearing range again, the moment he opened his mouth Watson spoke again.

‘Well then, if this doesn’t make sure the news travels, I do not know what will. If she does refrain from gossip we’ll just have to find a new audience until the ‘plan’ reaches the right ears.’

Backhaus smiled, smug and cheerful.

‘Quite so, doctor. What is that your friend likes to say at such occasions? The game is afoot!’

***

Schatz was getting bored. He was also very tired. For the third consecutive night he was tasked to keep watch with Watson while Holmes and Backhaus slunk off to somewhere without explaining exactly what they were up to. Their only instruction has been to look out for Blumberg’s return and that he might be armed.

‘Typical’ muttered Schatz, fiddling with his pistol dejectedly.

‘Quite’ Watson agreed, though his fond little smile suggested he was much less bothered by the situation ‘So who sleeps first tonight? I suggest you get some shut-eye, I’ll wake you if anything…’

He could not finish his sentence. There was a loud bang, almost certainly a gunshot, from the direction of the ground floor. The two assistants shared a look, grabbed their guns and crept out into the darkness. There was another bang from below and the sound of hurrying steps from above – the guards positioned at Blumberg’s rooms were hurrying down the stairs.

‘Go back, _go back_’ Watson hissed at them, quiet as he could ‘This is his game! He wants to distract you!’

The constable, who of course only knew the man as ‘Dr Clarkson’, personal physician to some useless aristo, gave him a blank stare but was cut off by Schatz before he could voice his opinion.

‘Joseph Schatz, assistant of Herr Backhaus. One of you comes with us, the other goes back to guard the room.’

That did the job, one of the guards nodded and hurried back, the other drew his own gun and joined them. As they crept down the stairs they could hear doors creaking open as confused, frightened guests poked their heads out, and the muffled dragging of furniture, indicating the more sensible ones barricading themselves in.

‘Splendid’ Watson grumbled ‘In a minute we’ll have a right ruckus on our hands.’

Some of the hotel staff was turning up the lighting, but as of yet it was only enough to provide a faint glow to the great entrance hall when they reached it. They paused, eyes straining, trying to adjust and spot the source of the noises…

Another loud bang, this time followed by the crash of shattered glass, as the bullet hit the foyer’s great chandelier. Without thinking, Schatz dashed off into the darkness, followed by an anxiously protesting Watson. Wild and insensible as the move was it also surprised the shooter for Schatz barrelled right into him. The impact had them tumbling down and sent the man’s gun clattering to the ground – and going off on impact. Schatz did not care, he barely even noticed, he was busy wrestling the intruder. The fellow was strong, if willowy, slippery as a fish and Schatz came dangerously close to losing his grip on him when finally Watson and the guard descended upon him too. Together they managed to pin him down.

The hall was abuzz with activity – the corridors were mostly lit now, panicked valets came running towards them, as were a couple of officers from the local police force. Through the haze of excitement Schatz supposed someone must have had the good sense of ringing them up amid the commotion. Still trying to get his bearing, he observed the constables relieving him and Watson of their captive as if from a distance.

It was Blumberg. Of course.

‘But what was the point of all this?’ he asked, addressing the Universe at large. Watson, hunched, pale and panting harshly, nudged his elbow and pointed to the grand staircase. There, descending like the stars of some great performance, came Holmes and Backhaus, the pictures of smug triumph, flanking and extremely displeased Miss Wagner. Holmes met their eyes across the hall with a smirk – and his face fell.

Leaving Backhaus to present Blumberg’s accomplice to the police and explain the case he hurried over to Schatz and the doctor. His face was drawn and deathly pale – Schatz had no idea why, but following his line of vision… Oh. Doctor Watson’s arm was bleeding.

‘John…’

‘It’s nothing, don’t you worry, just a graze…’

Schatz blinked. He looked over the hall, trying to catch the eye of his own colleague. No such luck – Backhaus was surrounded by a ring of policemen – the beaming Sun amid his satellites. Schatz shook his head and turned back – but Holmes and his doctor were already gone.

***

‘So, Sherlock’ Watson started. ‘I have a good enough idea what happened here, but it’s still not completely clear.’

They were back in their room, seated in front of the fireplace. Watson had his shirt off, allowing Holmes to tend to his wound. Thankfully it really was just a shallow graze, but having seen it, it still took all of Holmes’ willpower not to clock Blumberg over it. Currently he was occupied by gently, carefully cleaning and bandaging the gash. He made sure Watson was sitting down and reclining on some pillows. To prevent shock, the detective explained to himself. It took him a moment to realise Watson asked him a question.

‘Oh, the attempted heist? I had an idea Blumberg might have an accomplice, but I only started to suspect who after we questioned Fräulein Wagner. Surely you noticed the physical resemblance between the two?’

‘Oh. Siblings, then?’

‘Indeed. The resemblance was what gave me the idea, but when presented with her description the locksmith I interrogated remembered her also. I’m certain some minor digging will reveal that they have pulled off their previous thefts in a similar fashion – Fräulein Wagner in the service of the victim, in different disguises and under different names.’

He gently pressed down a roll of gauze on the wound and began to wrap another one around his companion’s arm.

‘By Jove… I don’t know whether to be angrier at the actual shooter or that grandstanding buffoon… But back to the case! Of course the idea of Lady Bartolo-Ricci’s daily scheduled walks came from Fräulein Wagner, so by the time her brother saw it fit to strike she would be safely out of the way at a predictable time. The sister also made sure he had a spare key, so no time had to be spent forcing the door and the discovery of the theft was also put off by some precious minutes. After the first failed attempts she used these same walks to leave messages out for her hiding brother.’

Watson hummed. He placed his hand on Holmes’ own, carefully guiding his motions.

‘There’ he murmured ‘You can tie it off now. Thank you, dear. So that was the first theft, but what about this shooting? It was meant as a distraction, was it not?’

‘Exactly. Naturally he did not mean to be caught, only to give his sister time to retrieve the documents – his original prize – but one cannot predict the movements of a wild card such as Herr Schatz, it would seem.’

He gave the bandage one last critical look, nodded with satisfaction, got up and placed a blanket over the doctor’s shoulders, fussing a bit with the edges. He also fetched a footstool for him.

‘There you go.’

Watson leant back against his pillows.

‘Say what you will, old boy, but questionable clientele aside I find this place quite charming.’

Holmes lit his pipe and took his seat across from him.

‘Is that so? Well. Surely nothing suggests we should hurry back home!’

They shared a smile. Life was, for the moment, indeed good.


End file.
